BSG Pressure
by Mariel3
Summary: Strategy...there's always a strategy...AR


Okay. Here's one with absolutely _no _redeeming value whatsoever..I'm a little uncertain about this one, but as a swan song, I guess it'll do.

As in last week's offering, there's no angst, but hey...if it helps, after you've finished reading it, remember that on BSG nothing good lasts for long!

* * *

**Pressure**  
By: Mariel

**-xxxxxxxxxx- **

She knows they shouldn't be doing what they are doing, but her arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, and with his tongue in her mouth and his hands grasping her ass, she has little desire to object. His body is pressed up against hers, and he's forceful and determined, and-

_Gods, she likes what he does._

Not to be outdone, because she's lost in this too, she removes one arm from around his neck and reaches down between them. She grasps him, cursing the thick material of his uniform pants but loving the way he moans and reflexively presses his hardness against her hand.

It's been too long.

_Far _too long.

Backed up until she is partially sitting on her desk, she continues to massage his erection through his pants while enjoying the feel of his tongue exploring her neck. The sensation sends tiny rivulets of desire coursing through her and she sighs and moves to kiss him lingeringly just below his ear.

"Bill- ," she says softly as his hand smoothly slides inside her untucked blouse to cup her breast.

She wants to tell him this is madness. What they are doing is more than dangerous, and the thin curtain between her office and the outer reception area is little protection against an unexpected arrival. More importantly, they're leaders of the fleet, and well past the age for this sort of mindless, hormonally-charged behaviour. They're showing no self-control or common sense, and she needs to stop this immediately.

Unfortunately, this sudden demonstration of his pent up passion is _very_ compelling.

_Gods, it feels good..._

She'd seen this coming, mind you, and had done nothing to stop it. If anything, she'd found it impossible not to actively encourage it. Halfway through their joint meeting with the heads of the civil and military requisition departments, she'd become aware of his lingering gaze and had known by the look in his eye that much of what he was thinking no longer had anything to do with what they were discussing and all to do with the sorts of things he would like to be doing instead...the sorts of things they were, in fact, doing right now...

During the meeting, thoughts of those things had slowly, inexorably, begun to have an effect. They'd trickled through her as she spoke of allocations and dispersement times, had warmed intimate parts of her while she agreed to alterations in schedules, and had heightened her awareness of him and her body's response to him while she carefully considered compromises in quotas.

Senses heightened, she'd unconsciously begun an advance of her own. She'd begun to move more deliberately, deliciously conscious of the careful way he watched her blouse stretch across her breasts when she reached behind her in search of a file. She'd watched his eyes warm when she slowly crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to rise, ever-so-slightly, up her thighs, and knew he'd noticed when she bent over slightly more than necessary to allow him a view she knew he'd enjoy. It was an uneven battle, though. His face expressionless, he had intimately caressed her with his eyes and she had felt every touch, every lingering, imaginary stroke as it feathered across her skin, leaving soft, phantom-like kisses that made her shiver. Nerve endings pulsing, she'd slowly begun to burn with an urgent, hot anticipation that made her unable to think of anything but what his eyes were silently promising.

So as soon as discretion allowed, she had calmly declared an early lunch, suggesting that everyone take an hour. The Admiral, of course, solemnly agreed to stay back and clarify a few points made during the meeting.

It's now ten minutes later. The others have left, and she's on fire. This is insanity gone mad in an explosive fashion, and she's burning brightly.

_She's always liked the heat._

"Bill-" she whispers again, knowing she has to stop this before it goes too far.

The soft susurration of his name is taken as a reminder she has a mouth to be kissed and he turns his attention to her lips again. The slide of his tongue against hers settles her back into willing silence. When he is finished and is again trailing soft kisses across her neck while his hands caress her, she attempts to clear her thought processes. Once again, she tries to speak.

"Bill, we-"

And again, she does not finish what she plans to say, because he has very skilfully slid her skirt up her thighs and now his fingers are-

"_Oh_-" she inhales sharply, then relaxes as he finds and caresses just the right spot. Slick, smooth strokes ignite her nerves and draw her focus, turning her wanton and needy and responsive. She moves in reply, totally bound by him and his touch and her need for it.

_Gods, it feels good..._

She wants him everywhere. On her. In her. Beneath her. Around her. Mind gone and her body's response in control, she exhalts that he knows her needs so well, that he can make dormant body parts awaken and blossom and override any reticence she might feel about who they are and what they are doing and where they are presently doing it.

Briefly, she tries to reciprocate. She wants to undress him, caress him, draw him into her - but he is driven, focussed. He wants ownership of this; wants control of her and her response. Slightly surprised at herself, she finds no desire to resist, and gives herself up to him willingly.

Gasping, she looks for leverage by leaning back, her hands braced on the top of the desk behind her. He smoothly removes her underwear, then smiles, and while one hand swirls wet madness between her legs, he reaches up and thumbs the nipple of a breast freed from a shirt that has somehow been unbuttoned. Her head tilts back and she closes her eyes.

_Oh, gods...please..._

Close to the edge, she lifts her head to look at him. She wants to come, and wants to look him in the eye as she does, to let him see where he takes her. Conversely, she wants to feel this on-the-edge forever, wants to bask in his attention until the ancients return. He knows her. Deeply, surely, passionately, he knows her and understands her and loves her anyway. She gasps again and pulls herself desperately back from the edge.

_He has given her life in so many more ways than should be possible..._

She curves her body, brings one hand to grasp his shoulder and looks down at what he is doing. Inhaling deeply, she widens her legs, moves against his hand, feels the pressure build, feels the sense of urgency increase as the need to let go slides through her body and begins to overwhelm her...

She wants him inside her when she reaches her peak, wants to convulse around his hardness and bring him over the edge with her. Reaching for his belt, she awkwardly tries to undo it with a trembling hand.

..._so close now_...

He stays her hand. "No," he rasps. "I want you to come first."

She stills, then acquiesces, allowing him to give her this gift of momentary oblivion, this flight outside herself...

...and before long convulses suddenly, almost painfully, with pleasure. She moves up to clutch his uniform and holds herself tightly against him. Breathing hard, she allows the waves of her orgasm to wash through her while he supports her with one arm and prolongs the trembling aftermath of her orgasm with gentle, light strokes. Slowly, as the throbbing dulls, she moves. With hands that feel oddly clumsy, she fumbles with his pants, releases his erection, and moves to guide him into her still-needy body.

"Please," she whispers, wanting all of him in her, needing the sensation of him filling her.

Now more than willing, he moves the head of his penis against her and they gasp at the slick, hot heat of the longed-for contact. She widens her legs in welcome and with one hand grasping his shoulder, takes hold of his hardness with the other and guides him into her.

There's pressure at first, but he moves slowly and slides home gently. She sighs in welcome and wriggles, wanting to feel everything, inside and out. He moans. Holding one of her legs, he leans over her, withdraws slightly, then thrusts deeper. His movements send a new round of awareness shooting through her. Together, they quickly seek a rhythm and balance. Once won, they relish it until, unable to hold back any longer, he places his thumb between them, increasing the pressure on her so that she cannot help but catapult into orgasm as he releases himself into her.

Knees weakened, he sags against her, his hands braced on the desktop. A pile of folders begin to slide and he quickly reaches out one arm to grasp at them. Most, but not all, are saved from falling. He rests his face against her neck, his breath coming in quick pants, his heartbeat pounding a frantic tattoo.

After a moment, he lifts himself off her slightly and her arms loosen from around him. Sliding out of her regretfully, he wishes the day were over and that they could afford the time to lie together in her bed for a while.

But the day has barely started, and the meeting will resume soon.

"Let me get a towel," he murmurs.

Her hands grasp his arms to keep him with her. His moving away will bring with it a sense of emptiness and loss that she's not ready for yet.

Understanding because he feels it too, he bends down and gently kisses her. Finally, he offers what he's kept secret all morning. He's checked, and, after far too long, he knows he can safely ask, "Have dinner with me tonight?"

She looks at him sharply, then smiles as understanding dawns.

He's found a coinciding break in their schedules.

Tonight.

At last.

She nods and her smile broadens as she realises part of this morning's purpose. Pulling him gently to her, she kisses him briefly on the mouth before allowing him to move away. He zips up his trousers and moves to go get the promised towel. She watches him with satisfaction. The pressure has been eased. Tonight there will be no hurried, urgent sex on her desk. Tonight, they'll be cloistered in the warm shadows of his quarters. Tonight...She smiles contentedly. Tonight, they share without hurry.

Anticipation, this time sweet and warm and lingering, begins to build...

End

Have a good week!


End file.
